Walls
by Titania Snape
Summary: Sometimes even the tallest, strongest walls crumble. Eventual SSHG, angsty and dark. Please R
1. Default Chapter

Walls

Prologue

There was no point anymore. No point to his existence. No point in continuing on in this black, empty life. 

Voldemort was dead and gone, never to return. Potter and gang had seen to that. He had been lauded along with the rest of them, which in all honesty had surprised him. The shiny medal of The Order of Merlin brought him no comfort, no peace. It was merely an object to hang on ones robes if one were vain enough or to hide in the bottom of a drawer somewhere if one were modest about their contribution. 

Or ashamed.

Severus Snape paced his bedroom this morning, just as he had every morning for the last two decades. Only this morning the thoughts that wandered through his head were different than those of the last twenty or so years. His morning pep talks usually consisted of the reasons why he was there in the first place. For the side of all that is good. For the light, for those whose circumstances of birth had somehow doomed them to death because they weren't considered pure of blood. 

Foolishness, utter foolishness, this blind prejudice. All of the death and destruction because of one psychotic half-blooded wizard named Tom Riddle.

It was ironic really, how this monster was so like another. Hitler was believed to have Jewish blood flowing through his veins, yet he was responsible for the torture and destruction of millions of Jews. 

Blind, psychotic prejudice. History, whether muggle or magical does repeat itself. The human psyche thinks that these monsters are merely aberrations, that the soul of most isn't capable of such evil.

Blindness. Blind naivete. The evil sneaks up on you. The evil is subtle and sweet-talking. The evil comes in the guise of making the world a better place to live in. The evil hides itself behind a beautiful face and makes love to you until you are completely taken in. Once you belong to the evil, you cannot escape. You are married to it and even if you regret it you must still pretend to love it. If you want to live.

He had fallen for the sweet talk, the promise of power and wealth and respect. Fallen for the acceptance he was shown, for the companionship and friends he had made. Friends indeed. He had gladly followed until the night that Lily and James Potter were murdered.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. He had begun feeling disenchanted long before their deaths. He had seen the lies for what they were, but had seen them too late for salvation. He had been marked, yet he had still been thinking of ways of escape. Yet he had been afraid of escape, he had not known if he could. He didn't know if he would be able to escape. There was no one to turn to.

Then James and Lily were murdered, and their son Harry seemingly defeated Voldemort. Stripped him of his power because of the protection of a mother's love.

Snape knew that this supposed defeat was merely temporary. The loss of Lily Potter nearly broke what was left of the dark man's heart. He had fancied himself in love with her at one point, but had ruined any chance that day by the lake. The blind prejudice in him speaking words that he always wished he could take back. Instead he used the anger and the pain he felt on the day she married Potter to ingratiate himself further to The Dark Lord.

So he went to Albus Dumbledore for forgiveness, for a chance at redemption. 

Thus began his career as a spy. Thus began his career worked out in a dark dungeon. Thus began his life of ignoring the rumors. Thus began his life of trying to protect the children of the purest blood from following in the way of their parents. Thus began his life of waiting for the inevitable. The return of Voldemort. The defeat of Voldemort. All at the hands of a boy who grew up to be so much like his father, but with the eyes of his mother. The boy and his friends, whom he was assigned to protect and educate, but never to be allowed to let them know what he was doing. Thus began his life of coddling the likes of Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle. Parkinson and Nott. The once great House of Slytherin.

He had failed. They were all gone now. Dead or in Azkaban.

He was weary. He had never felt so damn tired and drained.

There was no point anymore. There was no further reason for his existence. There was no light at the end of the tunnel that was his life.

With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of his great bed and laid his wand on the table beside it, next to his medal. He was dressed in his finest. He didn't want to be found in his work robes.


	2. Chapter One

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Walls

Chapter One

Hermione Granger lay motionless in the bed staring at the stark white ceiling above her, it's familiar whorl pattern broken only by the rectangle of a harsh florescent light. The ceiling was in contrast to the rest of the room which was nothing more than a square shaped space with a door, a chair, a small wardrobe, it's mirror removed and an iron hospital bed with a rather thin mattress. The lavender paint on the walls and the lack of fairy trim (or trim of any sort) was supposed to be soothing and peaceful. It was. So much so in fact that when Hermione wanted to think she would have to stare at the stark ceiling to keep herself from drifting off into a drug induced slumber.

She sighed, breaking the oppressive silence of the room for a moment. Her mediwitch informed her today, that she had been in this place for three weeks now. Had the days been so few? She thought it had been longer than that, it felt as if it had been. Then again, her watch along with the rest of her jewelry had been taken from her and she had not been allowed into the courtyard as of yet. Somehow the rising and setting of the Sun had escaped her notice, as had the frequency of her meals, which she had merely eaten to please her keepers. Her mother had, after all, made her promise to be good and do what she was told.

Her mother. With her tear stained cheeks, eyes wide with fear had then kissed her daughter on the cheek and fled the room leaving her with her father. He said nothing. Instead he had pulled her into a tight, comforting hug and stroked her back with trembling hands. Then he was gone too.

She was sorry she had scared them so. Maybe that was why she hadn't seen them since? Perhaps they were too frightened of the sight of her like everyone else was? 

They had removed the mirror from the wardrobe the first night she had slept here. She had awoken, screaming from a nightmare and had seen a skeleton screaming back at her. They told her that the skeleton had really been her reflection, that she was so thin she was in danger of dying. They had made her look at her reflection in another mirror that morning, but all she saw was a fat, unhappy woman with ugly red gashes at her wrists. They had told her that she had nearly bled to death.

'Well that was the whole point wasn't it?' she had thought, running her fingers lightly over the scars. Scars they had left on her, they had said, to make her think about her life. Or lack thereof.

The gashes had faded to a light shade of pink now, and she had gotten fatter. Or so she thought when she had gazed at her reflection earlier today. Not that they were satisfied, oh no. One hundred pounds on a five foot six body was still too thin, they said. No no, she still had to gain another thirty pounds and continue to attend her daily sessions with the rest of the crazies. Hermione nearly fainted when they told her this information. 

Gods, wasn't she fat enough already? Hadn't she talked and talked till she was blue in the face? Hadn't she listened to everyone else's sob story about how hard their childhood's had been? Or how horrible their lives were now. Hadn't she sat there and taken their criticism of her? Poor Hermione Granger they had said, poor little witch. Too smart, too pretty, best friends with and one of the saviors of their world. What the fuck did she have to complain about, they had asked. A muggle born with everything handed to her on a plate. What the hell did they know anyway?

They didn't know her! They hadn't a clue about her life and what she had seen. What she had done. Sure, she had helped Wonder Boy and his sidekick defeat Voldimort. Sure she had received an Order of Merlin, first class for her efforts. But at what cost to her? They had no clue. She had ostensibly saved their lives and they had the teremity to sit there and criticize her?

"Well fuck them!" she muttered to the ceiling. With another sigh, she rolled onto her side and shut her eyes. Why, she wondered again tonight, as she had wondered everynight since she had been put here, why hadn't they just let her die?


End file.
